Down And Out
by i'mnotcrazy82
Summary: A short three-shot.  Filling in some of the blanks on how House came to work at PPTH.  No ships besides friendships.  T due to some coarse language.
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N -**_

_**This is just a quick little two-shot filling in one of the blanks of his past - How House got his job at PPTH. I tried to use as much as the canon as I could, especially since we really don't know much about his time before PPTH. I hope this is realistic.**_

_**For those following Maybe Baby, I plan on updating it tomorrow sometime. Between the Thanksgiving holiday, a bacterial infection due to a pet bite, and an upper respiratory infection, it's been hard to sit down and write. Thanks for hanging on :-)**_

_**Hope you all like this!  
**_

**_Down And Out_**

* * *

_**January - 1996**_

Gregory House felt like he had been called to the principal's office, a feeling he was all to acutely familiar with. The large, African-American man who sat opposite the large mahogany desk looked at him with sad disappointment. "Dr. House," he began, with a sigh, "we both know why you're here. So let's do away with the formalities." Greg held the man's gaze, holding his head up high. He knew this had been coming, and it had been coming for quite a while. "You do realize that I'm going to have to terminate your employment at this hospital."

Greg kept his lips pressed in a thin, tight line. The frustration was building up within; this had been his sixth job in eight years. "Listen, Conway," this had been his problem, his mouth, but he couldn't stop himself. "We both know what this is about, and it has nothing to do with the reason your boss has told you," he snapped.

"You were caught sleeping in an exam room! Then, there's the bribery you committed to get Cutler to cover your rounds. Lets not forget all the patient complaints." Dr. Conway flipped through the rather sizable folder in front of him. Curious, House edged forward, trying to read it's contents. "This is your disciplinary file, Greg," Conway sounded resigned. "'_Is rude to patients_,;" he read. "_Made rude comments to a 90 year old woman._" Conway looked up. "Did you really insinuate that a great-grandmother needed to, and I quote _keep her legs closed_?"

"She had the clap!" Greg blurted out, defensively. "Did you want me to sugar coat it?" he snorted. "Be polite and all that shit."

"_Uses vulgar language towards patients."_ Conway rolled his eyes. "Then there are all the threats, and complaints of that you forced patients into experimental treatments. Not to mention the lawsuits, or the rumors of drug use. Let's not forget your track record from your previous positions." Conway closed the file, and he took a deep breath. "You're smart, Greg. You're really one hell of a doctor, but you're a liability, and it's a liability that we can't afford."

Greg felt his hands clench tightly, and a lead weight dropped into his stomach. _This is it_, he thought. He chewed on his bottom lip. "You'll fire me," he began, "but you'll keep an asshole like Edwards on staff, who's a sexual harassment lawsuit waiting to happen? Or Davis, who.."

"I don't care about them. This is about _you_," he emphasized. "I'm sorry." He closed the file.

Greg leaned forward. "I need this job," he began, panic starting to fill the numbness that he had been feeling.

Conway shook his head. "I'm afraid that this job doesn't need you." He stared a Greg, and he noticed how the man was sitting so dejectedly in front of him. "Look, a friend of mine just became Dean of Medicine at Princeton-Plainsboro, and she needs an infectious disease specialist." He turned to his computer, and he hit a few keys. "I can't guarantee you the job, but, if you do apply, I'll put in a good word for you, personally. Unfortunately, there's a good chance I won't be able to convince Sanders to give you a ringing endorsement in the name of the hospital, but, I'll do what I can." He hit a key, and his printer started to purr as it warmed up. After it was done printing, he handed Greg several sheets of paper. "Good luck, Greg. I'm sorry it didn't work out."

Greg frowned. "So am I." He stood up, then headed to his locker, to pack up the rest of his things.

[H] [H] [H]

**_July 1996_**

The Celebrity was a good car; he'd bought it used when he had gotten the Boston job; his first real job as a doctor. Now, nearly eight years later, it was still with him, but he wasn't in Boston anymore. A brief stint in New York had followed, and after that, there was Miami, Atlanta, San Diego, and now, it had been six months since Cleveland had let him go. He still lived in Cleveland, but he now spent most of his time on the road, trying to find a job.

For as brilliant as he was, he was being blackballed where ever he went. He already had two strikes against him, after being thrown out of both Michigan and Hopkins for cheating, but it was his recent jobs that seemed to be the death nail in the coffin of his young career. _Impossible to work with. Doesn't take direction well. Lack of respect to both patients and staff. Use of vulgarities towards patients and staff. Multiple disciplinary hearings. Lack of leadership skills. Brilliant, but absolutely no skill with interpersonal relationships. Ineffective bedside manner. _The criticisms twisted and turned in his head, making him dizzy. He didn't answer his phone half the time, tired of hearing the rejections for jobs, or hearing his father's gloating voice, reminded him of what a fuck up he really was.

He sighed, pulling into the parking lot of the apartment he shared with his girlfriend. Audrey was right now, the one thing that kept him from slitting his wrists, she had been there for him the past few months, even though he knew he had been absolutely unbearable to live with. He bit the inside of his lip, feeling very guilty for the one-night stands he'd had on the road, but he had been depressed and lonely, or so he rationalized.

He had to admit, though, he had seen this homecoming coming. He slammed the door shut on the old car. Stacks of boxes framed the entrance to their apartment, _her_ apartment, he realized. He sighed, then knocked on the door. He didn't recognize the tall, dark haired man the answered it, but right away, he knew what had happened. The guy didn't even flinch. "Audrey," he shouted over his shoulder. "It's for you."

Slim and dark haired, Audrey appeared in the doorway. "Hi, Greg," she said shyly, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear and out of her eyes.

Greg's mouth was pressed in a tight, thin line, and his glittering blue eyes took in her form. "Who's that?" he asked, not keeping the bitterness out of his voice.

She sighed. "Greg," she began, "we've...we've been over for a while," she said, her voice growing low and hoarse.

"I wasn't under that impression," he responded, dryly. "Especially since..."

"I know about April, and Chirsty, and Harmony, and Destini," she said, in a low, flat voice. Greg kept his eyes on her, biting the inside of his lip. "I can't live like that. Besides," she shrugged, "I was promoted last week. I'm staying here in Cleveland, Greg. It's obvious you aren't." She rose on her tiptoes, and she pressed a soft kiss on his scruffy cheek. "I loved you, Greg. I just don't anymore." She sucked on her lower lip for a moment. "Good luck," she let her hand linger on his bicep for a moment, before she turned and left him outside, in the stifling July Cleveland air.

It took about a half an hour, but he managed to cram the boxes into his car, gingerly placing his guitar in the front seat. He sighed, then decided that Cleveland didn't have anything for him anymore. He drove south for about an hour and half, stopping at a Burger King along the way for a quick burger and soda. After another hour or so, he stopped at a cheap motel, which had a bar conveniently located next door. He hauled a few of the boxes inside the sparsely furnished room, deciding to plot his next move.

But he had something to do, first.

Settling in an uncomfortable armless chair in the room, he pulled the phone closer to him, and he dialed in a numbers. A purring ring came over the speaker, and, settling the phone between his shoulder and ear, he reached for the bottle of bourbon in one of the boxes he had placed on the desk where the phone was. It took four rings, but a familiar voice sleepily answered. "Hello?"

"Hey, Jimmy," he blurted over the phone. "How's it goin'?"

"House?" James Wilson's voice immediately perked up. "Why are you calling at," he paused, and Greg could practically see him peering blindly at the numbers on his alarm clock. "12:15 in the morning?"

"Audrey kicked me out," he informed Wilson, taking a deep drink from the bourbon bottle. "Right after I got back from Baltimore."

"Wait, what?" Wilson's voice grew more alert, and, over the phone Greg heard the bed creak, and then a soft padding. A click of the door confirmed that Jimmy had shut the door so he wouldn't disturb his wife. "Audrey kicked you out?"

"Yeah," he sighed. "So I left town. I wouldn't try to contact me at that old number, you know, since I don't live there anymore."

"You _left_ town?" Wilson's voice rose an octave. "You _left_ town? You just left? Did you get the Baltimore job?"

"Nope," Greg propped his feet on the cheap desk. "I was thinking about driving to Boston and crashing with you and Brenda..."

"Bonnie," Wilson corrected him quickly.

"Whatever," came Greg's flippant reply. "Anyway, I know you have a couch I can crash on..."

"House," Wilson moaned. "I have to talk to my wife about this..."

"I don't have anywhere else to go," Greg admitted reluctantly, knowing that it would tug on Wilson's need to be needed. "It'll just be for a few weeks, until I can find a new position," he said quietly, running his hands through his shaggy hair."

Wilson finally sighed. "Okay, but just for a few weeks, until you can find your own place, okay?"

Greg brightened a bit. "Excellent!" he smiled, taking another swig of bourbon. "I wonder if Tiffani is still around?" he murmured. "You wanna go comb strip clubs when I get there, and help me hunt her down?"

Wilson sighed, murmuring to himself "Bonnie's going to kill me." Chuckling to himself, Greg hung up, then took another drink, his smile faltering . His life, he decided, couldn't get much worse.

_**Okay, let me know what you think! Thanks for reading, and the second part should be up fairly soon! :-D**_


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N-**_

_**Just brief mea culpa. In playing with dates and figuring out just when, based on certain episodes in the series, I forgot to plug one major variable into the equation - STACY! After I first wrote and posted this, I realized that I had forgot about her. According to my newest calculations, she would be with him at the moment, so, forgive me for screwing up the facts, and accept my little fic at face value, with just a little fudging of the facts...**_

_**Also, as I was finishing this up, I realized that it's going to be a three-parter rather than a two-shot. The last chapter will be up tomorrow.**_

_**Anyway, thanks for reading! I hope you like it :)  
**_

* * *

**_August 1996 -_**

Greg House stretched out on the leather sofa, swiftly changing the channel. It was two o'clock in the afternoon, but he had just woken up. He had wadded his borrowed sheets and blankets into a messy ball, and he had stashed them in a corner. Bonnie and Wilson had a two bedroom apartment, but one of the bedrooms was a mixture of a home office for Bonnie and a small library for Wilson. Bonnie was a receptionist at Boston General, where she and Wilson had met.

Bonnie resented his appearance on the scene. She still hadn't forgiven him for the bachelor party he had thrown for Wilson before their marriage, which ended with the fire department being called because someone had knocked over a flaming drink. Someone had called her, and let her know what happened, and she had rushed home, only to find an intoxicated Wilson receiving a lap dance from a perky little stripper named Summer, sans pants.

House had been blamed, of course, for the whole fiasco, even though he had pointed out that he wasn't present when the shit hit the fan. He had left the party, enjoying the favors of one of the hired entertainers, a luscious little red-head named Brandi, at a separate location, though Bonnie never bought his explanation. The fact she hadn't liked him from the beginning hadn't helped matters, and, if the woman wasn't so damn passive, he'd fear for his life every time she was around. As it was, the only thing he feared was their damn little dog pissing on his stuff, which it tended to do on a regular basis.

His stomach gave a loud rumble, and he heaved himself up off the couch, and headed to the refrigerator. He wrinkled his nose at the offerings inside; Bonnie was a horrible cook, and he finally settled on a peanut butter sandwich and a glass of milk, before resuming his place on the couch, channel surfing once again. He was still in that position a few hours later, when Wilson came home.

Wilson's teeth were clenched so tightly together, that House honestly feared that they were going to crack. Wilson looked around the apartment. "Did you even try to clean up?" he rubbed his forehead with his left hand while his right tightly gripped his briefcase handle.

House looked around. "Was I supposed to?" he asked, keeping his voice innocent. It was the wrong thing to say.

"You've gotta leave," Wilson snapped. "You've been here a month, and all you've done is eat our food, and sleep on our couch, and watch our TV. You haven't even tried to find a job, or an apartment, or whatever." He shook his head, closing his eyes. "You need to leave."

"Did _she_ put you up to this," House snapped back, raising his eyebrow. "She did, didn't she?" A smirk formed on his features.

"No, we talked about it, but no," Wilson answered quickly. "You're my friend, House, not my brother, or a pet. You're a grown man, and you need to take care of yourself. You're taking advantage of me. You always take advantage of me. And I'm done."

"Done?" House snorted. "So, you're just going to toss me out? It's not like I haven't been job searching," he huffed. "I just keep getting turned down."

"I know, I know," Wilson sighed. "I even tried to get you a job at Boston General, but, unfortunately, your track record from Boston Memorial is still fresh in everyone's minds." He shook his head. "But, you just can't leech off of me forever."

House sighed, throwing his head against the soft leather of the couch cushions. "I'm blowing through my savings going on these job interviews, which are just wastes of time and money. And my unemployment runs out in a few weeks." He closed his eyes, running his fingers through his rumpled hair. "What am I gonna do?"

Wilson bit his lip; he'd never seen his friend so depressed. "I don't know," he sighed. "But you're not getting done by sitting on my couch all day." He walked over, and he sat down next to House, and the two mirrored the others posture. "What about the Princeton job?" he asked, keeping his head forward. House twisted his neck to look at him, a puzzled expression on his face. "I found some printouts in your stuff while I was straightening up the other day," he waved his had airily.

"You snooped in my stuff?" House's mouth twisted into a snarl.

"Like you haven't been snooping around my apartment," Wilson shot back. "Don't look so shocked. It's not as nice when it's done to you, is it?"

"Bite me," House shot back, then he fell quiet, sucking on his bottom lip. "The Princeton job is at a teaching hospital," he told Wilson, whining. "I looked it up," He rolled his eyes. "They'll make me work in their free clinic, teach classes, shit like that." He chewed on his cheek, frowning. "The last thing I want is a bunch of med students tailing after me like ducklings," he sneered a little.

"Oh, I feel so bad for you," Wilson mocked sarcastically. "Heaven forbid you'd have to do your job." He gave House a look. "No wonder the brilliant physician can't get hired. You actually have to work to get paid, you know."

"Oh, I know how to work," House shot back. "I just don't like working for idiots, or doing idiotic work." He shrugged. "I like solving puzzles."

Wilson shrugged. "You became a doctor to solve puzzles? He stood up, rolling his eyes. "You're an idiot, you know. You could get a research position."

"And I'm the idiot? There's no glory in research," he teased his friend.

"Well," Wilson picked up his briefcase. "You've gotta do something; Bonnie want's you out by the end of the week." He gave his friend a shrug. "I think you should be looking a little harder for employment. The Chicken Shack up the road is hiring fry cooks," he informed House with a smirk. "I'm sure you're qualified." He ducked as a paperback came sailing at him, chuckling as he headed towards his bedroom.

_**A Week Later - **_

"I suggest you get your things organized."

House narrowed his eyes at Wilson. "What do you mean?" He sat up on the couch, where he had been reclining. He lifted his eyebrows in question.

"You have a job interview on Monday," Wilson informed him, rather pompously. "In Princeton."

"But I didn't apply for the Princeton job..." House furrowed his brows in bewilderment.

"Yeah, you did, you just may have sent in your forms from my office, and I may have called them on your behalf and pulled a few strings for an interview." House's jaw dropped, and he sat up, alert. Wilson handed him a manilla envelope. "It's still open. All the information you need is in there." He sat down on the sofa next to House, and he gave him a smug look. "You'll meet with a Dr. Lisa Cuddy at ten am sharp Monday morning, so don't be late. You want to make a good impression."

House felt the retort that he had formed slip away. "Lisa Cuddy?" he asked, his brain immediately recognizing the name. A flash of memory darted through his mind, and the image of a young, vivacious dark haired woman, her legs wrapped tightly around his body while his hands ran through her long silky hair, appeared before his eyes. He ran his tongue along the ridged roof of his mouth – _no,_ he thought to himself. _There's no way it's the same woman. Cuddy's probably a common name around ._ He chewed on his lip.

"Yeah," Wilson went on, oblivious. "Lisa Cuddy. Do you know her?"

House gave him a dark look. "Nope." He grinned. "You think she's hot?"

Wilson rolled his eyes. "I'm married. _Happily_ married, at least I was until you moved in. We'll be even happier as soon as your stuff and your sorry ass is out of our apartment."

House rolled his eyes. "Right," he drew out, grinning a little. Then he settled back on the couch. "I'm not going."

"What do you mean?" Wilson sputtered, sitting up. "I set this up for you..."

"Exactly!" House shouted. "_You_ set this up for me. You and your need to do good. I didn't apply for that job because I know I'm going to be tied down treating crotch rot and stuffy noses in a free clinic, while teaching med students about how different colors of mucus indicates different diseases. I want to work on my terms!" he exploded, his eyes blazing.

"You're not going to get a job on _your_ terms," Wilson shouted back. "You're going to sit on my couch, put in some perfunctory applications to jobs you know you're not going to get, and feel sorry for yourself. This job is _perfect_ for you, and both myself and Dr. Conway at Cleveland Mercy were able to put in enough of a good word that we were able to get you an interview. She wasn't even going to see you until we stepped in. Your reputation is toxic, you know."

"Like anyone gives a damn about my reputation," House snarled, standing up. "You want me out of your life, no problem. Go back to the illusion of your happy marriage, and I'll get the fuck out of your life!" In three quick strides, he traversed the space from the couch to the door, slamming it on his way out.

House didn't come back to the apartment that night, and Wilson went to bed uneasy. Bonnie didn't seem to be nearly as worried, but Wilson laid awake for most of the night, waiting to hear the front door to the apartment slam. He never did, though, and he drifted into an uneasy and fitful sleep. When he woke up the next morning, he staggered into the living room, to see if House had come back in a drunken stupor, and passed out on the couch.

The couch was empty when he peered over the back of it. He frowned, then sleepily looked around the apartment. Something was off, was missing. It took him several minutes, but then he realized that all of House's belongings were gone, and the apartment was clean. Wilson felt panic growing in his gut, and he scoured the living room, looking for a note, _something_ to let him know where House was going. But he didn't find anything. It as if House hadn't been there at all.

It wasn't until he opened the refrigerator, and he found that it been nearly cleared out that he found his proof. Written on a yellow Post-It, stuck to one of the few remaining Tupperware containers, the note was simple.

"_Who in the hell likes kale_?"

**_Alright, your turn. Let me know what you think :-)_**


	3. Chapter 3

It was noon by the time Greg House pulled off the exit into Princeton. He found a hotel, and he checked in, nervous and angry. Wilson was right; he needed to do something, but to apply for him, that stepped over the line. He still seethed about it, sure that Wilson's wife was somehow behind it, and since Wilson was spineless when it came to women, he probably had jumped to do it.

There was a small mini-fridge in the room, and House stuffed it with his pilfered prizes, smirking a little at what he thought the look on Wilson's face was going to be when he realized that he had raided the fridge before he left. After that, House pulled in a few boxes, and his suitcase, which held both of his suits. He hung one up, reminding himself to see if there was a dry cleaner that could do some fast work. He frowned, staring at the charcoal gray suit, wondering if he should just wear it in, wrinkles and all. Then he shook his head. _No,_ he thought. He may have been coerced into this, but he would treat it seriously.

He poked through some of the boxes in his car. He must have been a site – a tall, skinny guy n his mid-thirties with curly chestnut hair in cargo shorts, t-shirt, and flip-flops, searching the packed backseat of a car in front of a hotel. Hell, he'd call the cops on himself, if he was watching someone else do what he was doing. He finally found what he was looking for, and he brought it inside, tucked securely under his arm.

Once inside his hotel room, he sat down on the bed, and he opened up the shoe-box sized cedar box. It had been a gift, long ago, by a friend of the family who did woodworking on the side. Intricate knot work bordered the top, with the symbol of his medical profession burned into the middle of the top. It had been a gift when he graduated with his undergrad degree in pre-med and physics. He flipped the hinges on the box, and he opened the top, peering inside.

He kept his important documents in the box, his birth certificate, social security card. The title to his car, and his insurance information. A few treasured possessions, a handful of coins from the different countries he had visited and lived in as a child, and a few photographs were also tossed in. He poked through the documents and photographs until he found the one he was looking for. Gingerly plucking it from the box, he reclined on the bed, smiling a little as he looked at it.

He had been twenty-five, in his first semester at med-school. She was a vivacious eighteen, dark hair piled twenty feet high, all held together with enough Aqua-Net that could probably be traced as the exact cause of the hole in the ozone layer. They were at the same crazy party held by the fraternity that a mutual acquaintance was in. She wore a neon pink top, and a little too heavy make up. Her bright yellow skirt made her an image in day-glo, but she had caught his eyes long before, arguing her point with a professor that most upperclassmen were afraid to cross, and she had done it eloquently and brilliantly.

He cheated off of her, then stalked her around campus all semester, making sure to attend the same parties, hang out with the same crowds, all to get access to her. She was smart, and funny, and sassy, and she didn't put up with his crap. He'd always had a thing for smart, sassy brunettes, and it had been fun pursuing her. He had hoped they would be able to take their relationship to the next level, but as soon as it hit his apex, he had been tossed out for cheating. Hurt and lost, he had left that Michigan campus, figuring he had already ruined two of the best things that had happened to him.

He stared at the picture, memories stirring deep with him. He wondered what she looked like now; if she still played tennis of all things. He bit his lip, he looked up at the ceiling, memories and fantasies swirling around him. Monday seemed like so far away.

[H] [H] [H]

He stared at the mirror, frowning, fumbling with his tie. Frustrated, he tugged at the knot, undoing it. He hated ties with a fury that would do a barbarian proud, never understanding why it was considered appropriate to wear a noose around one's neck to be professional. Sighing, he bowed his head, his hands gripping the edges of the sink. He was nervous. He didn't really want this job, but his stomach churned nonetheless.

He took a deep breath, and he raked his fingers through his drying hair. He slammed his right hand down on the lip of the sink. He needed to shake the nervous feeling, and focus. He rubbed his forehead with his stinging hand. This won't be that hard; it's just another interview that he was going to fail. He took another deep breath, trying to calm himself. Feeling better, he managed to tie the knot without making himself look like a complete idiot. He glanced at his wristwatch – it was time to go.

The drive to Princeton-Plainsboro was uneventful. At that time of the morning, traffic had thinned out, and he had no trouble navigating the roads. Twenty minutes later, three minutes until ten, he pulled into the parking lot of the hospital.

The large brick and glass building loomed over him as he climbed out of his car. It was a nice campus, he concluded after looking around. He shrugged into his blazer, watching as white coated doctors and med students, scrub clad nurses, professionally dressed support and administration staff, and plain clothed patients and visitors filed into the hospital's large, glass double doored entrance at a staggered rate. He rubbed his freshly shaven jaw, his mouth twitching; it reminded him of every other hospital he'd been at. With a snort, he grabbed his briefcase, and he headed inside.

The nurse at the kiosk in the entrance way had the look of a battle ax. He stood at the desk, tapping his fingers rapidly on the polished surface, while she typed away on the computer at the terminal. "Ahem," he cleared his throat loudly, finally drawing her attention.

"Can I help you?" she asked, her mouth twisting with disdain at his attitude.

"Yeah," he bit out. "I have a meeting with Dr. Cuddy at ten." The clock on the wall read five after.

"She's probably in her office waiting for you, then," the nurse tossed her brown bangs out of her eyes. "I suggest you go find her."

House bit his lip. "That would be easy," he squinted at her name tag, "Nurse Previn, if I knew where the damn office was!" He didn't even try to keep the nastiness out of his voice.

Previn rolled her eyes, then pointed. "It's right in there." He followed her finger, then took his briefcase and left. Previn watched as the arrogant, sour man walk toward the clinic. She hoped to god that the new Dean wouldn't hire such an ass. Shaking her head at the thought, she turned back to the computer, and she resumed her work.

The Clinic was a circular space, with several exam rooms and plenty of open space for waiting. At one end, he stood in the double doors that led to the large foyer that held the main entrance and exit doors. At the other end, two large wood double doors with horizontal blinds loomed, and he knew that's where he'd find the Dean's office. He took a deep breath, and he crossed the space. He just reached the large doors, when the blew open.

"Sandy," A petite woman with long, dark hair tied back in a bun called. "Do you still need an extra hand, it looks like my ten o' clock is a..." She caught sight of him, and he raised his eyebrows as her voice trailed off, "is a no show." She composed herself, haughtily throwing back her shoulders, trying to make herself appear taller. Even with three-inch heels, she still only came to his collar bone. "Doctor House, I presume," she cocked an eyebrow at him. He gave her a little half smirk, then jerked his head once in a nod; it didn't look like she had changed much. "You're late," she said shortly, holding the door open for him.

"Traffic, you know," he said, not even trying to sound believable.

Her finely arched dark eyebrow. "Sit down, Doctor House. This shouldn't take long." He hesitated, then sat down in one of the large wood framed chairs in front of a large oak desk. She took her seat behind it, and opened up a large file. "You've been fired or let go from six jobs in the past eight years. Insubordination, tardiness, poor bedside manners, lack of respect to both subordinates and superiors, accusations of illegal and illicit activities while on hospital time." She took off her glasses. "My, my, my, you're a busy boy."

"In my defense...,"

"Do you want this job." She cut him off mid-sentence, and she fixed him with a deep look.

"I...what?" He was baffled.

"Look. You've been basically put on a do-not-hire list. Every hospital administrator knows your name, and they won't touch you with a ten foot pole. I wasn't even going to give you this interview until a few persons interjected on your behalf." She took a deep breath. "If you're serious, about this job, about staying in the medical field, I have to know, now." Her steel gray eyes held his. "Because if you're not, and if you're just screwing me around, then I want you to walk out those doors right now, and I never want to see you in this hospital again."

He stared at her, holding her fierce gaze. "I am." He blinked. "Serious, that is." He was eager to hear more about her reasons for giving him this chance. She hadn't changed much since college, except, this time, instead of a professor she was negotiating with, it was him. So he relaxed, leaning back in his chair, and he listened to her offer.

"The last administrator left this hospital in a mess," she began, settling back herself. "I'm facing a budget shortfall, and a loss of donors."

"Isn't it now your job to kiss the donors asses, and whatever other body part they need kissed, to get money?"

She gave him an annoyed look. "Yes, for the most part. Here's where you come in. You're a narcissistic asshole, but you're well respected in the community. If you ever decided to publish a book, based on the diseases you've treated, and diagnostic prowess, it would be not only an immediate best seller, but it would serve as a medical text book for years to come."

"So I'm to be your cash-cow?" He stood up. "I don't think so." He made a move towards the door.

"How would you like to be head of your own diagnostic department?"

His head snapped back around, and he looked at her, eyes wide. "I thought you needed an infectious disease specialist?"

"I do, but as soon as your name came up in discussion, I had an idea. It's not set in stone yet, and you will have to spend some time working under Dr. Chen, but, if I can swing it by the board, you will have your own department, with fellows of course. We can negotiate some of the details later." Her face was stoney and grim. "This would be the first time a department such as this existed. You would have to publish articles periodically, of course."

"Of course," he stared at her, not quite ready to take the bait. "What's the catch."

She gave him an appraising look. "You would hold similar responsibilities as the other doctors in this hospital. You would be doing six hours of clinic, split three days, two hours a day per week." She wrote a number down on a Post-It. "This would be your starting salary, but we can re-negotiate once your department is approved and completed."

He snatched the yellow slip of paper out of her hand. "You've GOT to be KIDDING me?" His lips curled up into a snarl. "Med students fresh out of college working on their residencies make more money than this?"

She gave him a shrewd look. "It's more than you're making now." She pointed out, dryly. "It's more than adequate, and it's in line with what you'll be doing until all of this gets approved."

He narrowed his eyes. "You seem pretty confident that this is all going to happen. Right now, it's all theoretical."

She gave him a hard smile. "This hospital needs a big time draw. You're that." She idly flipped through his file. "The name Greg House is an anathema for administrators, but you're practically a rock star among your fellow doctors and researchers."

"Rock stars get paid more than this," he huffed.

"Rock stars do, but I'll give you the one thing you want more than that."

"What's that?" he shot back, skeptically.

"Freedom," she replied with a knowing smile.

He drove back to his hotel a little while later, stopping along the way to eat lunch, and pick up a local paper. While picking through his reuban sandwich and fries, he flipped it to the classified ads. He needed to find an apartment.

[End]

**_Thanks for reading! Let me know if you liked it!_**


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